


Checkmark

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Dean, FBI Agent Castiel, M/M, Pre-Slash, Smart Sam, Thief Dean, Thief Sam, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Checkmark Thieves they called them—like ghosts, never leaving behind a mess, never giving hints of how they had done it. The only evidence that was left behind was the fact that money, paintings, jewels, statues—anything of value really—would be gone and in its place would be a checkmark carved into the wall, the floor, the back of an extraordinary replica, or just sharpied onto a sticky note . It was like they were just ticking off the items they stole from a list." </p><p>--</p><p>Scamming people, Stealing things, The Family Business.<br/>The Winchester Brothers are particularly good conartists. FBI Agent Castiel is the best at what he does, and right now, he's trying to catch them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkmark

**Author's Note:**

> Hiyah! Okay, I think we should be pretty good on the warnings/tags side of things but let me know if there is anything I should add! 
> 
> Got the idea and inspiration from watching White Collar which is badass and something everyone should watch, just saying...
> 
> I've never posted on this site before but I hope you enjoy
> 
> Take care and have a wonderful Easter, week, and life

Checkmark Thieves they called them—like ghosts, never leaving behind a mess, never giving hints of how they had done it. The only evidence that was left behind was the fact that money, paintings, jewels, statues—anything of value really—would be gone and in its place would be a checkmark carved into the wall, the floor, the back of an extraordinary replica, or just sharpied onto a sticky note . It was like they were just ticking off the items they stole from a list. Entire teams would stare at case files and flip through evidence but come up dry. The thieves were good: never caught on tape, constantly wearing gloves, consistently having a clean get away, and always leaving their signature checkmark. 

There hadn’t been many breaks in the case, until the case file ended up on the desk of Agent Castiel Novak of the FBI. Castiel was good at his job because he was stubborn, intelligent, and hard working. But even he was driven to frustration as he began to work on the case.

In under two months he was the go-to expert on the case. Every time there was a suspected theft from them he was the one to call. He spent nights pouring over notes, sipping coffee in the late hours in search of secrets buried in the evidence.

He’d managed to figure several valuable pieces of information from what they knew about the thieves. For one, there were at least—if not exactly—two men. Secondly, the forgeries made to replace the things they stole on occasion –often fooling people for months—were very good and most likely done by one or both of the men instead of paying an outside man to do it for them. Finally, it was almost as if they enjoyed the game of stealing and fooling the police. It was as if they stole for the thrill over anything else. And those checkmarks were there just to prove they had done it.

Perhaps that was why Castiel found them so intriguing. They didn’t appear to have a motive; they didn’t seem to care that they had collected a large enough sum of money to be set for life already. They still risked themselves. 

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Anna demanded, concern lighting up in her eyes.

Castiel snorted, pulling his coffee cup to his lips for a quick sip before replying, “of course I did. I got a call last night though for a case.”

Her eyes widened just a fraction, instantly sending her into FBI mode. “Them?”

He ignored her for the moment, content to inhale the scent of his coffee and enjoying the feel of the warm cup in his hands. A yawn escaped him before he could take in another mouthful of the hot liquid. His hand reached up to rub his eyes slowly, like they could wake him up with the caffeine could not. “Yeah, but this one is old. The collector, a Mr. Brian Johnson, only sent his painting in recently to be cleaned as he does yearly or so. The checkmark was discovered then, red crayon across the back of a near perfect replica of The Dame of France covered by the frame until taken out to clean. I’d guess it’s been a good several months since the switch was made.”

Anna’s eyebrows shot up in amazement and a hint of amusement. “Wow, red crayon, huh?”

“I guess he’s the taunting type,” Castiel let out a weak chuckle. “You have to hand it to the artist; he sure likes to be unique. I swear he gets his jollies out of stealing from rich bastards and leaving behind a laugh.”

The corners of her mouth pulled upward as she gazed at the agent. “Careful, you almost sound like a fan.”

Castiel finished off his coffee with a scowl. “Haven’t you got papers to file or something?”

“Haven’t you got a team of con artists to catch?” she shot back, stealing his coffee cup and throwing into the garbage with a grin as she left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam and Dean Winchester had been raised to be the perfect con-artists. Their father traveled around with a group of men doing odd—though never legal jobs. The two brothers had spent most of their time in motel rooms and new schools. Or doing their own thievery.

Whilst they both had a fair hand at most bar tricks (cards, darts, pool, pick pocketing) both had a severe knack for creating chaos. They made a good team, even at the early stages of their careers.

Samuel Winchester had a brain in him like no one else. He taught himself languages, had a excellent understanding of chemistry and history, and most certainly could concoct the best of plans. He knew when to pull back, when to move in. He didn’t take unnecessary steps that put him or Dean in danger, but he had a clear mind for quick moves. All the best plans were his.

But it was Dean Winchester, the older of the two, who took the risks. He let Sam sit on the sidelines, using his sharp eyes and mind to create the best situations. Dean spent the moments on  
quick feet and steady hands. He had an eye for art and a demeanor of innocence. While Sam could sit and play his drums, Dean had his hands deep in rich pockets.

He had grown up protecting Sam, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Sammy get hurt during one of the jobs. Not much changed when they both grew up and moved on.

Oh, Sam had left for college, leaving behind his father and brother and their past. But when John Winchester bit off more than he could chew of the wrong kind of people, it was on his doorstep that Dean appeared with innocent face and a desperate voice. Sam may have been the one with the pleading eyes, but it was Dean who held the silvery voice.

Somehow Sam found himself back in; scamming people, stealing things, the family business and all that.

John Winchester had always tangled himself with men made of more. He’d promised the wrong man to deliver what he couldn’t. And this man happened to head the largest crime ring in America. They called him Yellow Eyes for one reason or another. Some said he was a demon; others said he was a god. And that man had John Winchester’s life in the palm of his hand.

Dean and Sam had pleaded with him to spare John, to let the man go free. And the man had accepted—on conditions of course. John’s life for theirs.

In trying to get their father out, they had sent themselves in. They discovered the two of them weren’t two boys pick pocketing drunks in a bar anymore. They were a force to be reckoned with. Yellow Eyes seemed to realize that too. 

They weren’t gun men, weren’t murderers, weren’t aggressive men with a dangerous pass. They were thieves, and try as they might they couldn’t escape the trade of John’s life for their expertise.

A list was given to them, a rigorous sum of money to make, and then Dean and Sam were released out into the world to gain back their lives. And they were good at it. They were damn good. 

“Don’t suppose I could convince you to stop leaving checkmarks everywhere,” Sam rolled his eyes as he read the article Dean had handed him with a smirk. “They wouldn’t even be able to tie the robberies together if you hadn’t been signing everything.”

Dean laughed loudly, throwing his head back. “Where is the fun with that?”

Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes before settling back in his chair to glance down at the blue prints again. “Why are we doing this, Dean?” 

Rob the rich to feed the greed of the richer,” Dean told him with a grin that Sam had half a mind to slap off. 

“No, I mean, why did we sell our souls to save a man who spends his time drinking and smoking away his life?” Sam huffed and then his eyes went sad. “It isn’t fair for us to keep paying for his dumb mistakes.”

Dean gave him a sympathetic look before reaching over and handing him a beer, “because we’re Winchesters. We do what we can for family.” 

John was old, too old to be much of use to anyone. Most men grew wise in their old age but he was an old drunk with too much time on his hands. He cared about his boys, but he was more worried about losing his life. He was holed up in an escape, Yellow Eyes kept watch over him though. 

“Yeah,” Sam breathed in agreement. “Not that we’ve got much of that now a days.”

Dean tipped his beer bottle towards his brother with a grimace. “Nah, we haven’t. But some day, Sammy, someday we’ll get out of here and live on some beach. We’ve find pretty girls and grow old sipping rum in the sand.”

“Right,” Sam laughed, tipping the alcohol into his mouth with mirth. “This isn’t how I envisioned my life.”

Dean went quiet at that, looking up at his brother through guilty eyes. “I’m sorry about that Sammy. I never should have brought you into all of this.”

Sam shrugged, “you couldn’t have known how this was going to go down. Besides, someone has to be here to help your sorry ass.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, a bit of the sadness slipping away. “Who’d keep me in line if not you?” He leaned out of his chair to glance over the blue prints. “Alright egghead, what’ve we got?”

Sam frowned down at the plans and shook his head. “I don’t know, Dean,” he admitted. “We’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“Yeah?” Dean laughed, “About time we hit a snag that Sammy couldn’t solve.”

Sam swatted at him with an eye roll. “Haha,” he said dryly. “Quit calling me that. Look, I’m serious. This might be our only chance to get at it but…well, I don’t think there is any way to avoid getting on tape.”

Dean squinted at him, “that’s the problem? By the time anyone shows up we’ll be long gone.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “but they’d have your face now.”

Dean consumed the rest of his beer quickly, eyeing Sam’s to see if he needed a refill. “Well, it was bound to happen eventually. Besides, we’re almost done.”

Sam snorted, “you really think he’ll let us go after this?”

Dean frowned, “he will.”

“We’ll do this one together,” Sam announced.

“No,” Dean said instantly. “That is not happening. You said it yourself that this one had a risk. No reason to put both our faces out there.”

Leaving little room for Sam to argue, Dean snatched up the top blue print and grinned at it. “Besides, Agent Castiel Novak has been dying to put a face to the thief.”

Sam shook his head in amusement, “only you would think of an FBI agent chasing after you as flattering. You know, that poor man is busting his ass to catch us.”

“I know,” Dean smirked, picking up Sam’s beer to take a sip whilst ignoring Sam’s protest. “He’s good too. I’ve been reading up on him. Near two years now he’s been on our case.”

“You’re stalking him,” Sam said with a hint of accusation in his voice.

“No!” Dean grinned. “It’s just a bit of professional curiosity. Besides, he started it. But Sam, we might really be as good as we think we are.”

Sam rolled his eyes, pulling his beer back from Dean, “no one could ever be as good as you seem to think you are.”

Dean laughed, “Touché.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was the silver tongue, the steady hands, the artistic eyes. He was the nimble man who could take on any persona like a second skin. He was an actor, a thief, an artist, a man of many tricks—many games. And he knew it too.

The camera felt like a laser on the back of his head, watching him, recording him, holding on to what he was about to do. Dean scowled as his hands clutched at the safe. He paused for a moment to dig into his pocket and remove one of the suckers. He pulled it from the wrapper, examining the red lollipop no bigger than a quarter, before popping it in his mouth and returning to work a little more calm. Cracking a safe was easy; it was the getting away part that could be difficult. But Sam had yet to let him down so far. Even with his moral compass Sam seemed to be the best of criminals. He had a mind of a genius and the skills of a con. Dean could trust his brother to get him out.

The safe swung open after a moment. Dean paused, tilting his head and then smiling when he heard nothing but silence. Sam had managed to turn off the alarm. Dean reached inside slowly, past the money that filed the entry of the safe, and took hold of the necklace. He frowned at it, suppressing the desire to roll his eyes.

Art, he could understand. Money and sentimental pieces. But jewels? Dean could never see the value of them. He pocketed it quickly and turned back to the camera. He knew that later they’d review the tape, there was nothing either of the Winchesters could do about that, so Dean just grinned his most charming smile and took a sweeping bow. He turned back to the safe and took the envelope he carried out of his pocket. A small checkmark was printed across the envelope, but written in tiny letters at the bottom it said one single name.

 

Agent Castiel Novak of the FBI

 

Dramatically, Dean looked back to the camera, nodded his head respectfully, and made to leave but couldn’t resist one last look at the lens of the camera to wink. And with that, he left the house.

He stiffened slightly as he made his way down the street, noting the sudden presence of the owner. The woman was older, with too much makeup and obvious plastic surgery. Her clothing was expensive and she looked well off. Desra Olsen moved from her car, sweeping her dress down as she did so.

“Morning,” Dean said politely, nodding his head again. She hadn’t seen him.

She took one look at him and didn’t even take a moment to repress the look of disgust and distaste as she looked at him. The leather jacket, the torn jeans. Desra didn’t reply, just wrinkled her nose and kept going to make her way to her doorstep.

Dean smirked to himself, burring his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He walked two blocks before he had made his way back to his car. He put his cell up to his ear to make a single call.

“Yeah,” came the expectant voice. 

“Went well. Bringing the package now,” Dean said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Good work,” Sam replied. “See ya when you get back.”

“You too,” Dean said with a nod though he knew his brother couldn’t see him. “Be there in a minute.”

He shut the phone, turned on the ignition, turned up the music that came blaring out, and just like that, he was smoke. Gone. Almost as if he had never even been there at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel felt slightly excited. This robbery was under two days old, at least. This was recent. There was even the faint possibility that there was footage. It was a special sort of camera. As it recorded the images were sent to a security company. There was no way to turn it off, it was too high and well protected to really cover it without breaking it, and breaking it sent off an alarm that was separate from the alarm for the safe.

Most of the agents didn’t believe they would take the risk of showing their faces. Castiel was sure they would. It would be a few more hours before they would have the footage.

And then there was the letter.

An envelope adorned only with his own name and a checkmark. It was probably the reason that the news of the robbery had reached him so quickly.

He opened it with a curious gesture. 

 

Welcome to the game. Catch me if you can

 

That was all it said. Nothing else. Just a message for the agent, like a challenge. 

“Uh, excuse me, Sir,” said a voice to his left. “Excuse me?”

Castiel turned to see a man just beyond the caution tape. Castiel raised an eyebrow and walked over. “Do live near here, Sir?”

“Dean,” the man introduced himself with a smile that would make anyone’s knees weak. He had a small stick in his mouth, sucking on a candy like a nervous tick. Yet he seemed quite at ease. It was almost youthful, but with this man it seemed just as manly as his leather jacket. It made Castiel want to snort in amusement. “And yeah I’m staying with my Aunt just down the block while we visit.”

Ah. That made more sense. This man hardly looked like the type that lived around here. True he was well groomed and clean, but he was young and wore jeans, leather, and a crooked grin. He smiled kindly but his eyes gave off the impression of mystery. He was good looking, damn hot if Cas was being honest, but he was working and couldn’t think like that right now.

“I see. We’ll be questioning around here soon, going from door to door,” Agent Novak explained. He shook Dean’s offered hand that had popped the sucker back in his mouth. “I’m Special Agent Castiel Novak of the FBI. Were you around here today?”

Dean sighed sadly, like he was sad to disappoint. “No, sorry. We all only just got home from a day out. We’ve been doing the whole tourist thing. That’s why I’m here; we were worried someone had gotten hurt.” 

“Just a robbery,” Castiel assured him, smiling uncomfortably, not a fan of unnecessary socializing or comforting. “We’re sure that everyone else should be fine but just in case we’ll have men in the area for awhile.”

Dean smiled as if relieved, looking up from under his lashes. “Oh that’s great. Aunty will be glad to hear. She’s been ever so nervous.”

“Assure her there is nothing to worry about,” Castiel nodded, wishing he had more time to talk but too busy to indulge.

“Uh, Agent Cas,” the man stopped him, all big eyes and cocky grins.

Castiel turned with a raised eyebrow, not sure how to react to the strange shortened version of his name.

“It was nice to meet you. Thank you for answering my questions,” Dean said, holding out his hand to Castiel once more. This time, however, it was a small sucker, small and purple.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” Castiel said awkwardly, hesitating to take the candy. 

“Have a nice day,” Dean replied over his shoulder, already half way to the corner of the street.

Cas looked back down at the sucker and slowly opened it up, popping the candy in his mouth. With a shrug, he turned to return to the scene. He felt anxious and excited at the prospect of learning who this great thief was who managed to baffle the FBI. Castiel slowly shook his head, eager to learn the truth and already forgetting about the strange man in the leather jacket.


End file.
